At North Melbourne home games, club president Dr Sonja Hood and CEO Jennifer Watt often sneak out of their functions and spend the last quarter sitting with the cheer squad. They’ve had some glum afternoons – games that were over after 15 minutes and games where they were mown down late. Last year, one of Hood’s KPIs for her football department was how fans felt coming to games, rather than how many games the team won. For most supporters, half an hour of proctology was preferable to some of the final terms they had to sit through.
But they finally had their day on Sunday. With the contest still in the balance early in the final quarter, they slammed on three goals before Melbourne had even touched the ball. Soon it was torrential, and they’d kicked half a dozen goals in as many minutes. It was their biggest win in five years and perhaps a portent of a successful era to come.
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For years, they have struggled down back. Whether it’s a matter of height, heft, availability and more often than not, competence, they’ve been lambs to the slaughter in defence. But they thwarted Melbourne all day. Charlie Comben in particular was outstanding in the third quarter, pulling down four contested intercept marks.
And the way they exit the backline is improving too. For too long, hearts and hands have been in mouths any time North try to transition off half back. For too long, undermanned defenders would fight like caged lions to bring the ball to ground, only to completely botch the exit kick. The addition of Caleb Daniel has helped, but his fellow defenders were noticeably cleaner and smarter with the way they used the ball on Sunday.
Last year, the Roos completely lost their way after the West Coast game, a game they controlled and led by 13 points with 130 seconds to go and still squandered. Down in Tasmania against a red-hot Hawthorn, they were annihilated by more than 20 goals in the wet, which must have stuck in Alastair Clarkson’s craw as much as any loss in his career. He urged caution yesterday, but he often compares them to Chris Fagan’s Lions, who improved off the map in his third year and haven’t looked back since.
Elsewhere, there were the usual wild form swings between round one and round two. Carlton fans, for instance, are entitled to ask why the Richmond side that turned up to the Adelaide Oval couldn’t have done them the courtesy of playing like that a week earlier. And for about an hour and a half on Sunday, the Eagles, who played like busted backsides a week earlier, were a chance to pull off one of the great upsets against Brisbane at the Gabba.
But the biggest turnaround was at St Kilda. There were few signs of life, let alone hope, in their performance a week earlier. They were even worse in their final scratch match against Port Adelaide. You wouldn’t have backed them with Rod Butterss’ money on that evidence. But they’re a different team when they’re playing indoors, and they always seem to find an extra leg against Geelong. It was a reminder of how many skilled players they have, especially behind the ball. Watching Nasiah Wanganeen-Milera lope down the wing, ascertain his options, work his angles and whip the ball inboard is reason enough to buy a membership.
Like the Roos, St Kilda supporters on the whole are inured to pessimism and with good reason. The last decade has been a bit of a lost one. There hasn’t been much to get excited about. They’ve just toiled away in the lower middle class of the competition. But there’s cautious grounds for optimism with this Saints team and most of it relates to their young players. They’re Ross Lyon’s players now, and it’s pretty much his club. For the most part, he’s quickly weeded out the slow, the flaky, the cloggers – and that’s just the off-field staff.
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It was a strange game though, as they often are when Chris Scott and Lyon square off. In the end, the Cats were firing artillery shells and the Saints were scrambling and dodging and ducking for cover. They deserved to win, but they continue to put their fans through the ringer.
Lyon is still Lyon – lots of sweat, lots of wry observations to his assistants, a cock of the head when the press conference questions don’t quite compute. Scott presents far differently these days – siting there like a chess master, almost like Johnny Sack in The Sopranos, plotting and scheming. He was contemptuous of the suggestion that the game was a matter of effort and application, pointing instead to St Kilda’s superior skill level and athletic profile. And he reminded us, as he does nearly every time he speaks, that the previous week’s form is increasingly irrelevant in this competition, that there are no easy games, and that the plain and plodding can suddenly sprout wings.
